


Wake Up Your Saints

by lostlenore



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Politics, Shop AU's, Small Towns, Supernatural Elements, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:40:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlenore/pseuds/lostlenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hardly Arthur's fault that small town witches attract big city trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up Your Saints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fingerprintbruises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerprintbruises/gifts).



> Title is from a song of the same name by The National. Please disregard my utter ignorance as to how elections and politics work. Also, since I'm trapped in the country of eternal fall right now the fic turned out more about autumn than winter. (As i'm posting this we still haven't had any snow) Sorry. 
> 
> Thank you to all my Twitter friends for cheering me onward and listening to me whine, you guys are the actual best. And a huge thank-you to the mods for keeping everything organized! Happy Holidays fingerprintbruises! I tried to include as many of your tags as I could, I hope you enjoy it and have a lovely New Year.

Morgana was rarely ever wrong. It was a fact that had always grated with Arthur, but something that he had always trusted about her nonetheless. The sky was blue, bears shit in the woods, and Arthur should listen to Morgana and sell his stock in whatever company would be unlucky enough to lose later that day. He trusted in her powers enough to take the protection she had advised, no more and no less, and to seek out Mithian King, law professor, old family friend, and current guest lecturer at Camelot’s small community college.

What Morgana had neglected to mention was that Mithian, much like the rest of the country, would be talking about Camlann. Arthur stared up at the pictures of Gwen at the podium, her face alight with righteous fury and remembered the swell of the crowd, the frenetic energy of an audience ripped from their apathy.

Then came the pictures of his face, followed by pictures of the shooting. Arthur suddenly had had to fight to breathe. At the front of the lecture hall Mithian was still talking calmly about Mordred, about the facts the police and the FBI had gathered but Arthur was up out of his seat and halfway out the door, Mordred’s eerily colorless eyes boring holes into his back.  

Arthur wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been sitting there, hidden safely behind the standing ashtray and the low wall of the bike shed when a shadow appeared next to the bike shed and a low voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” 

The guy crouched down next to him, rocking nervously on the balls of his feet. “I can call someone if you need. A doctor? A friend, if you came with someone-“

“No calls,” said Arthur. His hands moved unconsciously to grip his left shoulder, where the pain was still the sharpest, then to his mother’s ring, which he wore on a chain around his neck. He concentrated on the familiarity of its shape, the smooth, well-worn edges and lingering warmth from having it close against his skin. Arthur took a series of deep, slow, breaths in and out until he felt a little less like he was going to fly apart.

The man, he noticed, was still crouched there, playing with the ends of his scarf. He looked only a few years younger than Arthur himself, late twenties, if he’d had to guess. The scarf he was toying with was a fire-engine red monstrosity, and Arthur watched the man tease at a single golden thread that ran through it like a river, twisting and turning in a pattern only visible to the person who’d designed it. It gave him something to focus on, at least, it did until the man said, “that’s quite the necklace you have there,” and then Arthur remembered that this man _could see him_ , and stood up so fast he nearly brained himself on a planter.

The man stood slowly, fingers still toying with his scarf. “The chain conceals, and the ring protects. Am I right? Smart to use a family heirloom like that, bringing blood under the protection of blood. Morgana’s work, if I’m not mistaken." He looked Arthur directly in the eye as he spoke and, standing, he was actually an inch or so taller than Arthur was, though he was kind of scrawny looking even under several layers of sweaters. As if appearence made a difference though, Arthur thought sourly. Mordred had certainly looked harmless enough, and the damage he had wrought was anything but.

As nonchalantly as possible Arthur reached into his coat for the crystal Morgana had given him that morning, pressing it into his hands with the unusually serious face she’s taken to wearing since Arthur had woken up in the hospital a month ago with two bullets in him.

The man put his hands up. “Hey, sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Morgana and I are kinda friends- or, well actually we fight a lot- but we get along sometimes. A friend of hers is generally a friend of mine, unless their also using their gifts to rig the stock market. Though honestly you don’t really look like the type,” he said kindly, taking in Arthur’s old Carhart’s jacket and the hole in his jeans.

“How can you see me,” Arthur demanded, trying to keep his panic reigned in. “You’re not supposed to be able to see me.”

“Oh no, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone!” said the man, his blue eyes wide and honest. “I’m a bit magic too, sort of. I’m not as impressive as Morgana, I mean- precognition is, like, wow- but sometimes I can…Well.” He swooped low and plucked a dandelion growing in a small crack in the concrete. “Here,” he said, and for a brief moment his eyes burned gold. “For you. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to skip out early on Professor King’s lecture, that shit was pretty intense even for Ethics in Law.”

The dandelion shuddered and then with a small popping noise transformed into a large yellow umbrella.

“It’s going to rain in about twenty minutes,” said the man. “If you’re sure you’re okay-“

“I’m fine,” Arthur snapped.

“-well then, I’ll head out. Don’t want to be late for work.” And with that he tugged a small baton out of his backpack. The baton hummed, which was most definitely not something an ordinary baton did, Arthur thought distantly, and it shivered then lengthened within his hand so that he was holding a broomstick that hovered patiently a couple feet off the ground.

“See you around then,” said the man with a lunatic grin and he sped up, up and into the clouds and out of sight.

**

It rained thirty minutes later, as Arthur slowly made his way back to Morgana’s.

Well then, Arthur thought wryly, not even witches could predict the weather.

 

**

 

“ _Arthur, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get Morgana’s emails until after the lecture. If I’d known you’d be coming I wouldn’t have_ -“

“-Shit,” Arthur hissed, turning his attention away from Mithian’s voicemail to where Morgana was attempting to change his bandages, with little success.

“Sorry, sorry. See, this is why you should be getting actual medical treatment. One of us is going to end up killing the other and getting blood all over my new Manolo Blahniks, and do you know how hard it is to remove bloodstains Arthur?” Morgana rambled, in an attempt to distract Arthur from the pain that lit up his entire left side. “So difficult. Much more difficult than it’s worth. What’s more you’ll have absolutely ruined the Feng Shui. Can you imagine George’s expression if I told him we had to redecorate?”

“Ecstatic, I’d imagine,” Arthur grunted. In the background, Mithian’s disembodied voice promised groveling pancakes and unrestricted access to her jacuzzi. “That man stroked a framed pain swatch every night before he falls asleep, I’m sure of it.”   

Morgana tutted over his shoulder and finished re-wrapping the bandage, “ _Arthur_. Please, if anything it’s a framed fabric sample, and I wasn’t kidding about you actually needing qualified medical supervision. Before you object,” she said, steamrolling right over the objections ready to fall off Arthur’s tongue, “She’s not a hospital worker. More midwife really, and I’d trust her with my life. The whole family is a bit,” she wiggled her fingers in what Arthur guessed was a pantomime of spellcasting. Uther had been in the ground nearly a decade now and still neither of his children could bring themselves to say the words ‘magic’ out loud.

 “But they’ve been good to me. Helped me out a lot when I first got here and still didn’t understand the visions I was having. They run the drugstore, Avalon? Yeah, that sounds right.” Morgana made a thoughtful noise and patted him on the back absently.

“Morgana,” Arthur said, his voice hoarse. “You know I can’t keep coming back here. The press…”

“Are ambulatory turd-vultures, to be sure,” Morgana agreed. “Mithian’s should be safe for you. She has a campus tour scheduled in mid-November but until then you’ll have the pleasure of her company.” Her face softened a fraction, eyebrows knitting in badly disguised concern and a hand coming up to frame Arthur’s jaw. “She’ll keep you safe even if I can’t. And the necklace will do the rest of the work.”

“Did you guys ever make up?” Arthur asked in a blatant attempt in changing the subject. “I always liked the two of you together.”

Morgana laughed, soft and brittle. “Eventually. She’s seeing someone else now, some changeling of a farm girl from out in the valley.”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur said, not exactly sure what he was saying sorry for. For the hordes of paparazzo  surely already descending on her house in search of Arthur, for making her change his bandages because he stubbornly refused to go to a hospital, or because she was obviously still sore about her breakup with Mithian and Arthur had trampled across that hurt with all the tact of a freight train.

“I forgive you,” Morgana said, with a quick kiss to his forehead. “Go see the Midwife though, would you? Her name is Hunith. I’ve got a couple of calls I need to make to New York.”

Years of living with Morgana had blessed them each with the ability to tell when the other needed their space. Morgana was capable of deploying this information with tact when pressed. Arthur was plenty capable of tact, just not after he’d been fucking shot.

“Have fun swindling the rich out of their vacation homes,” Arthur called after her.  

“Like I needed a reminder darling,” she said, with a smirk. And then Arthur was alone again, with the lingering afterimage of pain and the traces of Morgana’s lipstick heavy on his brow.

**

From the outside, Avalon drugstore didn’t particularly look like it was housing a coven of witches. It looked like most of the shops in Camelot; a bit run down, paint starting to peel and a bevy of dying flowers stacked haphazardly in planters outside the entrance. Arthur unclasped the necklace keeping him buried from the public eye and burrowed a little deeper into his jacket. The door opened with a chime of bells and Arthur stepped into what would otherwise be an extraordinarily boring drugstore. His eye caught on the black cat resting in the window, squinting into the weak October sunlight. In no time at all she was purring like a rusty motor, butting into his hand when he neglected to give her his full attention.

“Oh!” said a familiar voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”the man from before stood in front of Arthur, his arms piled high with boxes. “I didn’t see you. And you’re not even wearing the charm this time, just my luck,” he laughed. “What can I help you with today?”

 _A family of witches_ , said Morgana’s voice in his head. “Ah, I was looking for Hunith, if she was around?”

“Sorry, she’s out attending a birth today. Should be back this weekend though, and if it’s urgent I could take a look at it.” He abandoned the boxes, which continued to float obediently in midair and held his hand out for Arthur to shake.

“I’m her son, Emerson Rhys. I run the counter when Mum or Gaius, that’s my uncle, are busy with other customers. Most people call me Merlin.” His smile was just as mad as Arthur remembered it, and his eyes twice as blue. He was still wearing the scarf, this time joined by a half apron of the same garish red color.

“Nice to meet you,” Arthur said, declining to give his name in return. “I think I'd rather wait until the weekend then.” The thought of Merlin's hands skittering across the wound on Arthur's shoulder made his palms itchy. 

“You’re sure?” Merlin asks, his smile creased into a slight frown. “We have a pretty impressive array of healing potions, and if you’re worried about the application or shelf-life I can show you how to-“

“I’ll wait until the weekend,” Arthur interrupted and returned his attentions to the cat in the window, who was now blinking up at him accusingly for having removed his hands from her head without her permission.

“I see you found Freya,” Merlin sounded unreasonably pleased. “She’s being a lazy asshole and not helping with inventory, but otherwise she’s pretty cool for a familiar.”

“I-what?” said Arthur, engaging against his better judgment.  

“Fuck off Merlin I’m on break,” said the cat, who was not longer a cat at all, but rather a tiny young woman with choppy brown hair. “Just because I don’t spend it smoking hand-rolled essence of pretentious hipster out back with the dumpsters like _some people_ doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to-”

“I’ll just come back this weekend,” Arthur said, though neither of them were listening to him anymore, and slipped back out the front before anyone could catch him, bells jangling unseasonably behind him.

**

Mithian laughed about a minute straight when he told her the story later that day over dinner. Mithian was good-humored and a considerate roommate, and Arthur regretted that she traveled so much for her lectures. She would be touring again next week, and Arthur was already nervous to be left alone in the echoing quiet of the house. It might be part of why Mithian traveled so much, Arthur thought to himself and he all but bullied her into letting him help with the dishes. She finally caved and handed him a dishtowel covered in cross-stitched fish playing the piano and assigned him to drying duty. 

“Merlin can be a dumbass sometimes but he’s good people, him and Hunith both,” Mithian said, hands covered in bubbles. “Don’t let that boy fool you Arthur, he’s much more powerful than he lets on. Elena says he has the “Gift of the Earth,”whatever the fuck that means. Haven’t seen the uncle around the shop much lately, word is he spends a lot of time in the bingo parlor these days with Alice Munrow. But, well, you know how gossip gets.”

Arthur actually does. He could quash a dozen rumors of him and Gwen in some sort of torrid love affair and watch them sprout up just as strong the next day, like Hydra’s heads.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Freya at all though and I’ve lived here longer than you or Morgana.” Mithian smiled at him and handed him another plate. “You must be something pretty special then.”

Arthur concentrated unnecessarily on the plate in front of him so he wouldn’t have to look her in the eye. News reporters liked to refer to him and Gwen like that when they weren’t making snide comments about Gwen’s qualifications or the people Arthur took to bed. 

_Pretty special aren’t they, that radical woman and her openly gay campaign manager? Look at their liberal socialist policy, how delusional. But what else could you expect from that type of candidate?_

 They’d naïvely thought they were going to change the world together before Mordred literally put a hole in their plan and a hole in Arthur. In the hospital she and Lance had crowded close to the bed and promised him that they weren't done, that as long as one of them was still breathing they'd be on the ballot come November. Arthur had always known Gwen to be as good as her word, but he hasn't been able to bring himself to watch. The newsreels hadn't stopped spinning the Camlann story yet and Arthur was far from being able to watch it. 

“Maybe,” he said instead of the thousands of other thoughts that clamored for space in his mouth.

“Maybe,” she echoed.

**

Arthur snuck out of the house once he was sure Mithian is asleep.

 A stupid risk, he knew. The point of him lying low here was to recover in peace, away from prying eyes and possible second attempts on his life. And for the most part Arthur had followed Morgana's lead and played along nicely. He checked himself out of the hospital in Washington under his own power and arranged for Morgana to pick him up in a discreet rental, telling no one their destination. Unfortunately Arthur had few friends that weren't also involved in Gwen’s campaign, and even fewer surviving relatives. The speculation on where he’d disappeared to pretty much started and ended with Morgana’s house across town. News crews could be crawling through Camelot at any given moment.

 None of this stopped Arthur from grabbing his secondary phone from his duffle bag and stealing out into the garden in his nightclothes. A low mist hung over the grass, and the stars were visible glittering up above, millions more than the handful of scattered satellites Arthur was used to seeing in the city.

Gwen picked up on the first ring.

“Arthur,” she breathed, and Arthur could tell she hadn’t been sleeping either. “Jesus Christ, Arthur are you safe?”

“I’m safe,” Arthur said. It was so good to hear her voice again; he hadn’t realized how desperately he’d missed hearing it. “Morgana’s got me and I’m safe. You?”

“Fine. Lance hustled me out of Washington for the time being. Even called in a few favors from some guys he used to know in the Marines for when we back up on the circuit at the end of the month, you know, to beef up security.”

“God, Gwen you don’t have to,” Arthur tried to keep his voice steady and failed. “You know that it was- he was-“

“He was aiming for me. Yeah, I read the incident reports.” Gwen’s voice took on that steel polish, the one that snapped the arguments of her opponents like twigs. “But that bastard didn’t get me and I’ll be dammed if I let him scare me away when I’ve come this close.”

“Are you scared?” Arthur asked her, feeling like something in his heart had cracked in two. He cradled the phone closer to his chest in hopes that Gwen’s words could help him fill it.

“Yes,” said Gwen, her quick and voice low, like the stars would overhear her admitting to weakness. “God, Arthur I’m terrified. I watched you take a bullet meant for me, you don’t think I’m terrified?” Her breathe shook just a fraction as she said the words, and Arthur finally believed her. “But the thing is, the thing is, Arthur- we both have a choice, right now. I won’t blame you for what you decide, and how could I? I just…I’m going to keep fighting. I think we have a real chance here. You, Lance, everyone on the team worked so hard to get me here and I’m going to grab it with both hands, shove it down the throats of people like Mordred who tried to keep us out.”

Arthur had started nodding along with her words, and, realizing she couldn’t see him managed to croak out a “make ‘em eat crow.”

Gwen gave a watery laugh. “Exactly. You take all the time you need Arthur, and when you’re ready, if you still want it, I’ll always have an open seat for you here.” There was a pause. “Percy misses you something awful. He says next time let him do his job and guard your body.”

Arthur let out a strange sound that he supposed was a rough approximation of a laugh. “I miss you, all of you.” Arthur wanted to go back, hell, he wanted to be there now, but at the same time he didn’t know if he ever could.  “Tell Percy he’s on the clock, starting now.”

“I love you, you idiot. Stay safe.” Gwen said, and then the line was dead,  Arthur no more than a tiny island in the back garden fog.

**

Arthur spent the remainder of the week puttering around Mithian’s house making a nuisance of himself as he tried and failed to drudge through the news reports to find out what had been happening in his absence, drinking tea by the pot and pacing when he became upset before simply diving right back in again because he couldn’t help himself.

Needless to say Saturday was slow to arrive, but when it finally came Arthur found himself knocking on the door of Avalon Pharmaceuticals before noon and being ushered inside by a harried looking woman who had Merlin’s nose.

“You must be that boy Merlin’s been making all the fuss about,” she said distractedly as she waved her hands and the papers on her desk began sorting themselves in a flurry of activity. “Freya’s even taken a shine to you, and I honestly didn’t think she could stand anyone who wasn’t Merlin. Familiars can be like that.”

“She turned into a cat,” Arthur said, half a question as he pulled off his shirt so Hunith could inspect his bandages. He’d kept the ring on its usual chain so that it rested right over his heart. Just the weight of wearing it was comforting to him now.

“I thought Morgana would have taught you about familiars, though I guess she doesn’t have one, does she?” Hunith brought over an honest to god cauldron that was still smoking slightly and set it at Arthur’s feet.

“This might sting a little dear,” she said, not unkindly, then proceeded to dab the potion over the tops of the bandages. Once soaked, they came off easily, despite smelling like an ashtray. “But yes, a familiar is a bit like a business partner for a witch. They lend them strength to cast and help keep them grounded, aid the in magical endeavors, etcetera etcetera.”

“Oh,” Arthur sighed, half understanding half relief at the feeling of the new, bright blue cream she’d smeared across the ball of his shoulder.

“I’m going to need to let this rest a tick and then we can continue,” Hunith called over her shoulder from where she was washing her hands in the sink. “Merlin’s gathering the leaves out back if you’d like to go watch. Always into something, that boy, at least it’s a help to have them out of my vegetables.” She shook her head.

Arthur knew the feeling well.

**

“You’re back!” Merlin’s entire face lit up at the sight of Arthur trudging resignedly across the yard. There were a small pile of golden-red leaves at his feet, but no rake in sight.

“I was looking for Freya, actually,” Arthur said, perhaps more snippy than he'd intended. The cream Hunith had applied apparently numbed the pain rather than suppress it completely, and it felt like his shoulder was burned through with ice .

“She’s bird-watching at the moment,” Merlin winked. “But I maybe I could change your mind?”

Arthur seriously doubted it. Merlin might mean well, but he never knew when to shut up and leave well enough alone. Everything about his scarf-and-winning-smile combo shouted ‘I grew up a sheltered child in a small town and I’ve never had to worry about bleeding out in front of a crowd of twenty-thousand people.’ Merlin had never had to deal with the low coil of fear that lived in the pit of his stomach, or the paranoia, or the nightmares. It would difficult to explain to anyone who hadn’t lived with it, and Merlin decidedly hadn’t.

“You can certainly try,” Arthur said and Merlin’s enthusiasm ratcheted impossibly higher.

“Okay, you might want to sit down for this,” Merlin said, a second before his eyes glowed gold and he let out a low-pitched whistle.

The leaves jumped to attention under his hands, made into an ocean wave that rippled over the top of the grass and rose slowly into the air,  only to be brought spinning dizzily downwards with a flick of Merlin’s hand. They circled Merlin like a cyclone, tighter and tighter until he gave a push and they burst forth in a flood of color.

“What do you think?” Merlin shouted over the roar of wind guiding the leaves around their bodies in lazy figure eights.

“Not bad,” Arthur shouted. Merlin rewarded him with a smile that promised reckless things to come, and with that everything stopped.

The leaves hung, suspended, shimmering around them in the late afternoon sun.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

“Can I-” he started to reach out a hand, eyes wide with wonder, toward the nearest leaf which hovered near chest height.

“Go for it,” Merlin laughed, and busied himself with poking the leaves nearest him into a lopsided smiley face.

“You’re actually five inside, aren’t you” said Arthur finally cracking a smile. Merlin huffed and began constructing something else. As Arthur watched, first the Big Dipper, then the Little Dipper took shape, closely followed by Scorpio, Sagittarius, and the Southern Cross. Arthur pitched in, adding Draco and Hercules to the mix, so that by the time Hunith beckoned him back inside they’d remade the roof of the world to hold only the two of them.

**

“Give it three days and then we’ll take another look. I’ve got some tablets here for you to chew on, I want you to use them if the pain gets real bad, okay Arthur?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Arthur said around the hot cocoa she’d pushed into his hands after the bandage change. Three days puttering around Mithian’s gaping empty house seemed like an eternity from now. Some of what he thought must have shown on his face because Hunith looked at him shrewdly and added, “of course, if you’re feeling up to it after you’ve rested, you could come by tomorrow and help Merlin with the apple picking.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Arthur said, and he could feel the tips of his ears burn red. Hunith laughed and poured him more cocoa.

**

Apple picking turned out to be more an adventure in avoiding being hit with stray apples than actually picking them. Merlin had nearly knocked all the apples off the trees in his enthusiasm to see Arthur had shown up, and a good number caught him on the head before he could stop them all from raining down around him. Freya had teased him mercilessly for it, which led to a good-natured argument about who could pull off the most impressive apple related tricks.

Arthur had propped himself on the abandoned ladder and let them go at it, egging each of them on in turn. Merlin could juggle twelve apples at once, the apples lifting themselves in slow ferris wheel arcs above his head. Freya tried to one up him with twenty, and it was a disaster made worth it for the way Merlin tipped his head back and laughed, loud and clear as a bell through the orchard.

They spent the rest of the afternoon warming up next to the fireplace and playing Gin Rummy.

“You should stop by tomorrow, we’ll be making pies with all those.” Merlin nodded at the baskets of apples stacked inside the door. Merlin’s eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled, Arthur noticed. It had been impossible not to, he’d been smiling all day. “I mean, might as well enjoy the _fruits of your labor_ since you put in so much hard work today.”

“It was such a chore, I don’t know how I managed,” Arthur said, unable or unwilling to hide the answering smile on his face. Merlin helped Arthur into his jacket and walked him to the front door, and paused over the threshold before unwinding his shabby red scarf from the coat hook by the door.

“It’s cold out today,” he said as he looped it carefully around Arthur’s neck. “And you’re not wearing the ring.”

“Do I need to, when I’m here?” _Am I safe with you?_

“The scarf will work just fine” Merlin said. “That which is made with love protects.” They stood there a moment in the doorway, Arthur unwilling to leave and Merlin unwilling to send him away, until Freya complained about the draft they were letting in and Arthur had to go.

**

Roast corn on the cob, pumpkin seeds, zucchini bread, apple jam, and doughnuts; Arthur had never known fall to have so many rituals to it, or that the majority of those rituals were centered around food. Arthur was forced to start offloading the extra turnovers and gingerbread onto Morgana, who was more than pleased to devour them, even if the smug smiles she gave Arthur when he arrived, arms laden with cobbler, left him blushing and stuttering for no good reason at all.  

“You’ve never had zucchini bread?” Merlin clutched his chest in mock horror. It left a big floury handprint over his heart that Arthur dutifully rushed off. Said zucchinis were already busy peeling themselves in the sink. “Mum makes it with chocolate chips and I swear to god it’s like a tiny slice of zucchini filled heaven.”

“Fall was never really a thing where I lived,” Arthur said, which was only half-true. Boarding schools were weird places, and he’d rather avoid the messy topic of Uther altogether.

“You poor, poor, deprived soul,” Merlin said, “well, it's a thing here so if you’ve always had a burning desire to, I don’t know, tap for syrup or make a crop circle, or joust with scarecrows, you let me know and I’ll make it happen.”

Arthur laughed, suddenly a bit self-conscious of how close together they stood and how his hands still rested on the lapels of Merlin’s soft flannel shirt. “Crop circles aren’t even real.”

“Magic makes the impossible possible,” Merlin said, and thankfully took a step back, though his eyes never left Arthur’s. “You should think about it though. I know you’re meant to be resting and recovering in peace, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. But…” he looked up shyly at Arthur and Arthur felt butterflies bloom in his stomach. “But we really like having you around. I- um, I really like having you around.”

Arthur swallowed. 

Merlin moved slowly, his hand coming up to cup Arthur's jaw, and giving Arthur time to back out if he felt so opposed. Instead, Arthur met him halfway, smiling into an open-mouthed kiss as Merlin twisted his hands into Arthur's shirt and pulled him until they were flush together. Over his shoulder Arthur could see all the plants that crowded the windowsill burst into bloom. The dishes rattled in the cupboards when Merlin eased his tongue into Arthur's laughing mouth, and Arthur thought the fireworks dancing behind his eyelids might also be bursting above his head.

They kissed for what felt like hours, with Merlin patiently matching whatever Arthur was willing to give him, hands curled around Arthur's forearms, fingers flexing as Arthur buried his hands in Arthur's hair. It wasn't until Arthur stopped to take a breath that he noticed something strange. 

Merlin laughed into the junction of Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur could feel his smiling even as he apologized. "Sorry, sorry! That's never happened before." He didn't put them down though, so he couldn't have really been all that sorry. Arthur swayed, still hovering two or three feet in the air. 

"I might be a passable dancer now," he mused out loud so he could feel Merlin laugh again. He began to hum, swaying Arthur from side to side and Arthur tightened his hold on Merlin and let him lead them in tiny circles around the kitchen, while sparks danced overhead. 

**

The days wore on in this vein, blurred together with a happiness and warmth so bright it was nearly blinding. Even the rare days when Arthur begged off to spend the day alone, wrapped up in his head and thinking himself unfit for human company, Freya visited her in cat form to check in on him and curl up on Arthur’s chest.

They didn’t talk. Instead Arthur would borrow one of the terrible pulpy sci-fi novels Mithian hid behind the nice law texts in the living room and Freya would curl up beside him to sleep. Arthur didn’t think he had the words to tell her how having her there made it a little easier not to panic completely. But he thought she knew, and that would have to be good enough for now.

**

On Halloween night, Merlin snagged two flasks of cider from the pantry and took Arthur by the hand and let him out into the fields across the road.

“Shhhh, this is Old Man Simmons’ corn,” Merlin giggled, “ _his ears are all around us.”_

“That was terrible,” Arthur said even as he laughed and took another long draw from his flask, “no really, terrible. Are you going to tell me why we’re trespassing or do I have to guess?”

“It’s a Halloween tradition- we don’t really do Halloween, Gaius says it’s tacky and All Souls Day is more important, so instead” He spread his arms out wide, and the field around him shuddered, “we remade our own tradition.”

“Where’s Freya tonight?” Arthur asked, not wanting to exclude her from whatever tradition she’d helped to build.

“Off enchanting pumpkins and scaring small children,” Merlin said with a waved of his hand. “Don’t worry, she gave us her blessing.”

He began to spin, slowly, his arms still reaching for something Arthur couldn’t see. When he found it, his hands curled into fists and _pulled_. The corn around them began to bend in one smooth wave, tiny crisscrossed stalks layered up so that a pattern emerged and formed perfect rings haloing their feet like the ripples of a pond.

Or, a crop circle. 

“There,” said Merlin, breathless and eyes bright. “what did you- _mmphhp!_ ”

Arthur caught him and kissed him, his mouth still sticky warm with cider. Merlin’s mouth opened sweetly under his own to trade soft, slow kisses that stole all the breath from Arthur’s lungs.

Merlin touched his forehead to Arthur’s when they broke for air, smiling so big Arthur thought his face would break from it. They stayed twined together until Merlin reminded Arthur of the blanket in his pack, and they stretched out underneath the pale sliver of moon.

“I think I like this tradition,” Arthur said, hours later, his lips red and sore. The sky was getting light and Merlin was half-asleep, burrowed inside Arthur’s jacket under the pretense of ‘sharing body heat Arthur, haven’t you read any survivalist novels,’ which Arthur couldn’t argue with, especially not if it gave him the chance to run his hands along the dips and planes of Merlin’s back, as he did now.

“Yeah, I’m a big fan of this version,” Merlin said, and kissed him once again, for old times’ sake.     

 **

No sooner had the creeping mists and hordes of bats of All Hallow's Eve disappeared than Merlin had loaded a crate of LED's onto the back of his broomstick and taken Freya out with him to the orchard to help him string up yards and yards of fairy lights. Arthur watched them bickering from the back room window, where Hunith was checking his shoulder.  

"-Arthur," Hunith said, exasperated but with a a hint of a smile. She's obviously been trying to get his attention for a while. Outside, Merlin was gesticulating wildly to Freya, the string of fairy lights bright against the iron grey clouds on the horizon like Merlin were a shooting star. 

"Hm?"

"I said, it looks like you're healing up nicely, aren't you?" 

That had indeed been Morgana's opinion yesterday, when she'd swung by to visit him and caught him curled up on the couch and stroking cat-Freya with one foot while helping Gwen choose sites to hold last-minute pressers over Skype. 

"It's a bit like magic." Arthur agreed, and Hunith had laughed and swatted him with a dishtowel before heading back to the front. 

**

Several days later the phone on Arthur’s bedside began to buzz insistently and did not stop until Arthur had levered himself up out of bed and out of the warm cocoon of blankets.

Merlin made a pathetic whining noise at the cold, so Arthur absolutely _had_ to tuck the comforter in around the contours of his body, glad there was no one else awake at this hour to seem him being so grossly sentimental.  He pressed a quick kiss to Merlin’s forehead and escaped downstairs to the kitchen.

 _We won_ read the text from Lance, attached to a picture of Gwen’s face- shocked and happy and crying all at once. Arthur leaned back to grip the edge of the counter, bowled over for a moment because _holy shit they’d done it they’d won-_

And then, buried underneath a flurry of well wishes and news alerts came the text from Gwen.

_Ready to join me on my democratically elected throne?_

Arthur bit his lip. This was what he had been working towards for years, what he and Gwen had sacrificed everything towards: one step through the door despite being tarred with prejudice and the weight of Uther’s name. Finally, they’d clawed their way in, and for the next two years the Senate would have to listen to Gwen. Arthur knew she would climb atop tables and scream to be heard, if that’s what she needed to do. He laughed, and looked down again at the picture Lance had sent. From here things would only get more difficult and more dangerous, though how, exactly, Arthur didn’t even want to contemplate at the moment.

And then there was Merlin.

Something was unfolding between them- when he looked at Merlin Arthur felt a thrill of possibility at all the things the future held for them. Arthur was loathe to give it all up and return to Washington. If he tried it would leave them both miserable. Merlin knew what he wanted and Gwen knew what she wanted and that left Arthur, curled over the kitchen counter, wondering exactly what it was that he wanted.

Arthur shut his eyes. He was suddenly so very tired, and it was either extremely early or very late.

“Good news I hope?” Freya jumped up on the counter next to Arthur and wound against his good shoulder. Her eyes glowed gold in the dark, the same uncanny way Merlin’s did.  

“Yes. But also no?” Arthur scrubbed his face with his hands. “I have a choice to make, and it’s not going to be easy.”

“In that case,” said Freya, glancing at the clock before she hopped off the counter, “I might have a solution.”

**

Arthur followed Freya out the back door of the house and through the fields, which skirted the edge of the woods. The grass was wet with dew and licked at the backs of Arthur’s heels as he hurried after Freya, not wanting to lose her in the dark. All was quiet under the moon save for the soft shushing noises of the grass and the erratic pounding of Arthur’s heartbeat.

“Here,” said Freya’s voice not far ahead and Arthur looked up to see they’d reached the road. The path to the house, which was the way they’d come, lay to the right, and the path stretching out to the left led to Camelot proper, now a tiny pinprick of light in the distance.

“Isn’t there supposed to be a crossroads for me to make a wish?” Arthur asked, uncertain as to where this was headed.

“This is not that. You’ve been asked to make a choice, not a wish. Magic runs strong in midnight Witching Hour; I will help you to decide.”

“I can stay or I can go, Freya, it’s a pretty simple dilemma but either way it’s going to be messy. It’s going to hurt,” Arthur said, wincing preemptively. He’d had his fill of hurt, more than enough to look for more so soon.  

“That’s because you think still think there are only two paths.” Freya rolled her shoulders back until she appeared human again. She stood, straight-backed like a soldier, pinning Arthur with her glare. “Haven’t you learned anything about magic at all?”

Arthur touched the spot over his heart where his mother’s ring lay. “Magic makes the impossible possible,” he whispered, and dared to picture a future where Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, all the people he loved from all the disparate parts of the strange life he’d lived were all parts he’d get to keep, people he’d continue to love.

“-And if you cannot find the way between the two?” Freya prompted.

“I’ll make a way,” Arthur said, and as the words left his mouth a third road appeared in the dark. He didn’t know where it led, but he could see it twisting ahead of him through the woods and out of sight.

“To make the future you want into a reality is another type of magic,” Freya said approvingly, and as they walked together the sun rose over the hills in the East to welcome them home.  

**Author's Note:**

> "I didn't have to explain to her that I wasn't dead,  
> She sat me down and lit some colored candles over my head.  
> She said, "You're right it's a living, but you're wrong for the life,  
> You know you never should've listened to my father's advice."
> 
>  _Wake Up Your Saints_ \- The National


End file.
